Page 5 of Playing Rough

Deck gestures to a lean guy with preppy glasses. "That's Will, our stats guy..."

He continues around the room, and some of the ice thaws as people shoot me tentative smiles or nods. Enough to loosen the breath I've been holding.

Until I get to the section Deck skipped—the core forward line, Kensington's inner circle. They're staring daggers at me, not even attempting to hide their hostility.

And then the locker room door swings open, and the devil himself walks in.

Riot Kensington in the flesh, his signature Hollowgate duffel over one broad shoulder, sweat-damp hair evidence he's just come from the gym. His piercing blue eyes find me instantly. The animosity in them could cut steel.

My fingers curl involuntarily, itching to grab a stick and drive it right into that smug grin. But Deck's warning look keeps me steady.

Kensington stares me down a moment longer before brushing past to join his inner circle. They close ranks, shooting more openly hostile glares my way now that their leader's here.

Bastards. Fine, let them play petty intimidation games. I'll show them what I can do out on the ice soon enough.

A blond guy I recognize as Tristan Moreno speaks up, arms crossed. "Let's cut to the chase, yeah? What's Coach thinking, recruiting you after what went down last season?"

I meet Tristan's glare steadily. "Your coach recognizes talent when he sees it. Looked past the politics and saw someone who could help this team win."

"Help us?" A ginger that Deck introduced as Eli scoffs. "We've dominated the league for years without you. All you've ever done is talk shit and start fights."

Irritation prickles through me, but I bite my tongue.Take the high road, London. Prove you belong here.

"I know we've had our differences," I say evenly. "But I want to move past it. I'm here to be part of the team."

"Like hell." The last guy—Sasha Ivanov, according to his locker, their right wing—speaks up in a thick Russian accent. "You should stay with your own kind."

Before I can respond, Deck steps forward, hands raised diplomatically. "That's enough, guys. I know this is new for all of us, but Coach made his decision. London's a Hollowgate Hawk now. He deserves a fair shot like everyone else."

"Preach it, Cap."

I glance over in surprise as Luc Beaumont raises his water bottle in salute. We played together a couple times on regional all-star teams. Having a potential ally here is reassuring.

The dissenting group bristles, but Deck shuts them down with a scathing look.

"We'll settle this on the ice where it counts," he says. "For now, save the energy for conditioning."

There are grumbles and dark looks, but the protests stop. Kensington's cronies clearly respect Deck enough to stand down, even if their resentment simmers below the surface.

Practice starts soon after and I throw myself into the drills, pushing every rep to the limit. I can feel the hostile eyes judging my every move, waiting for me to slip up.

But after years of facing taunts and sneers as the scholarship kid at a private academy in high school, this is nothing new. The only difference here is instead of pity or disdain, it's envy and resentment fueling their prejudice. I'm the street rat infiltrating the palace, and they won't make me feel welcome anytime soon.

Fine by me. I've got thick skin and zero intention of groveling for these assholes to like me. All I'm here to do is play the best damn hockey of my life. These pampered dickheads will just have to get over their egos and deal with it.

As we leave the rink hours later, damp from showers and sore, Kensington gets right in my face.

"Don't look so smug. Next practice, we'll see if you can handle real competition." He shoves past, ramming his shoulder into me. "Better start packing now."

I just grin, adrenaline still buzzing through me. "Can't wait, golden boy."

His scowl deepens, and he looks about to spit another threat when Deck steps between us again.

"Not the time or place," he warns Kensington, before turning to me. "Ignore him and hit the showers."

Kensington storms off with his lackeys on his heels. I meet Deck's eyes and give him a grudging nod of thanks. Having allies here will keep me sane, even if I'm too stubborn to admit it out loud.

After an endless welcoming dinner where I exchange stilted small talk with the few non-hockey classmates willing to approach me, I'm drained. Social exhaustion seeps through my bones. All I want is to unwind in peace.

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